Red Right, Yerrow Right
by The Buddy System
Summary: This epic moment of failure has been brought to you by the language barrier and the letter L.


"This is impossibre…" A rather dismal-looking Japanese man muttered hopelessly, resting his chin on the tabletop and closing his eyes as though he wished he could simply disappear. "I give up. There is absorutery no reason for us to continue—it is compretery pointress." He lifted his head and massaged his temples with his fingertips, hoping to soothe the ache that had gradually been worsening since the beginning of this exercise. "Can I go home now?" he asked hopefully, opening his eyes to stare at the hulking German man in the seat across from him.

"No!" That single, booming exclamation felt like a sledgehammer whack to his already aching head, and the much smaller man cringed and squeezed his eyes shut, going back to rubbing at his temples.

"But we are not getting anywhere with this," he pointed out quietly, opening one eye to give the German a doubtful look. The icy blue stare he received in return was completely unnerving. "Perhaps we can try again some other time," he hedged, silently wondering if he could escape the torture this once, and then manage to avoid the other nation for the rest of his existence. He had to admit that the odds of doing so were not in his favor.

"No," the German repeated, though he wasn't yelling anymore, for which the smaller country was grateful. "This is absolutely necessary, Japan. And it really isn't that difficult—you're doing well so far." The last part was a lie, and Germany knew it. In fact, he had never seen anyone fail at something so horribly, and was almost certain that by the time this was over, World Wars III, IV and V would be memories of the past. Upon receiving a skeptical look from Japan, Germany tried to put on a positive expression. However, the look ended up turning into a grimace, so he stopped trying and let out a heavy sigh instead.

"Look, Japan," Germany mumbled, mimicking the other nation's actions and rubbing at his own temples in an exasperated fashion. "I know that it's difficult. I understand that it isn't something that you're familiar with. But things will be much easier for you once you get the hang of it." He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing. "The fact is, Japan… You have to learn to pronounce the letter L."

There was a pregnant silence in which one could have heard a pin drop. From the other side of the planet.

"And why is that such a necessity?" Japan demanded, giving Germany a glare and silently wondering if he looked even the slightest bit intimidating, which was unlikely. "Is it not enough that I have been exposed to so much Western curture? Now you are trying to say that it is my obrigation to rearn how to adapt to your ranguage patterns, and—"

"That's not what I'm saying at all," Germany interrupted, and Japan fell silent, exhaling in a huff. He sat back down in the chair, realizing that he'd gotten to his feet somewhere in the midst of his ranting.

"I'm not trying to impose anything on you, Japan," Germany continued, sighing yet again. "But this would make communication so much easier for you. There wouldn't be so many misunderstandings." Germany glanced cautiously at the Asian, sincerely hoping that his logic wasn't falling on deaf ears.

"Such as?" Japan muttered darkly, averting his gaze and staring at the rug as though there were suddenly something highly fascinating about its colors and fringes. "What misunderstandings are you referring to? Arr of the other countries seem to understand me perfectry fine…"

Germany could think of one particular nation that apparently didn't fall into the category of "all the other countries". Granted, sometimes understanding said country was even more difficult than understanding Japan—but then again, it wasn't really because of a speech impediment that one had difficulties understanding Italy.

"Well," Germany began, studying the intricate patterns on the carved legs of the table they were sitting at in the same way that Japan was eyeing the rug. "I could sit here for a few decades and recount, in detail, each and every time your mispronunciation of the letter L has confused another country in some way or another."

Japan made a quiet sound of annoyance and stopped burning a hole in the rug long enough to glare at the German in a completely non-threatening way. "I feer that one instance wirr suffice," he challenged, and Germany arched an eyebrow at the Japanese nation's uncharacteristic boldness.

Admittedly, Germany hadn't really expected Japan to call his bluff and ask him to give an account of one such occurrence. As a result, it took a few moments to drag one up from the depths of his memory—or at least one that would show Japan how truly necessary it was for him to learn to pronounce the letter L. Germany had to hold back a small chuckle at the single incident that stood out from the others.

"Remember a few years back," he began, crossing his arms and relaxing in his chair. Japan had gone back to his staring competition with the rug, so Germany simply let his gaze wander rather than staring at the side of the smaller country's head. "We all went to the World Conference. I can't recall what the topic was beforehand, but somehow the subject changed to myths and urban legends specific to each country. Everyone was getting fairly tired of America, rambling on about his numerous UFO sightings, and Spain butted in and started talking about Chupacabras."

Japan remained silent, though he'd given up on his attempt to set fire to the rug with his non-existent laser vision.

"Spain told everybody that Chupacabras were like vampires; they came out at night to feed on the blood of livestock and any other living thing stupid enough to be outside after dark." Germany rolled his eyes, phrasing it the same way that Spain had and imagining the Hispanic nation's poor attempt at scaring the more faint-hearted countries by hissing in what he thought was an uncannily vampiric fashion. Italy and Romano had cowered in their chairs, glancing every which way as though they expected the spoken-of creature to come at them from a random shadow in the corner of the room. China had simply taken the time to point out to Spain that he sounded more like a dying reptile than anything fitting the description of "undead".

"What does that have to do with the subject at hand?" Japan interrupted, but Germany ignored him and he fell into a disgruntled silence, wondering if it was too late to continue his heated staring contest with the rug.

"By the time the conference ended," Germany continued, "Italy was downright terrified. He wouldn't shut up about how the 'scary blood-sucking monster' from Spain's story was going to get him during the night." Remembering the frightened look on the smaller country's face, Germany couldn't help but chuckle. "There was no consoling him—he really believed that he was going to meet his demise at the claws of a weird Spanish vampire." Germany shook his head in disbelief, as though he were reliving the memory and facing a horror-stricken Italian.

"You and I tried everything to calm him down," Germany reminded Japan, who had taken to drumming his fingers on his knee quietly. "Eventually, you suggested—"

"A night-right," Japan finished for him, recalling what he'd recommended to Italy as a way of fixing his suddenly-acquired fear of nighttime in general as well as the creatures that may or may not have skulked about in the darkness. Japan had figured that it would also put a stop to the outraged phone calls they would receive nightly from Romano, who was tired of a trembling Italy crawling into his bed at night with claims of hearing strange scratching sounds coming from within his own closet.

Germany nodded. "Yes, a night-_light_. You suggested that a night-light was the solution to Italy's problem. But do you remember what happened next?" He arched an eyebrow at Japan, who refused to meet his gaze. Japan did, in fact, remember what had happened after that. But saying so or giving those details would simply be proving Germany's point for him. Japan decided to let Germany do that extra bit of work for himself, and remained silent.

"Italy misunderstood you," Germany said pointedly, an almost imperceptible note of triumph in his voice. "Granted, context clues should've given him more than enough of a hint as to what you meant, but this is Italy we're talking about. We can't expect him to put two and two together any more than we can expect China to stop making knockoffs of everything under the sun." Germany, realizing that he was losing sight of his point, cleared his throat. "It took several weeks' time and a bit of serious mental counseling to convince Italy that the night didn't need righting, because there was nothing wrong with it to begin with."

Germany paused for a moment. "I will never understand how he came to that conclusion, even with his low brain mass and your inability to pronounce things correctly…" He'd been talking more to himself on that last part, and after about half a minute he lifted his head to gaze quietly at Japan, half expecting him to erupt into a flustered rambling about how it wasn't his mispronunciation that had caused their Italian comrade's moment of pure stupidity.

However, Japan remained silent, intently studying the way in which his hands were folded neatly in his lap. Germany could make out the slight flush that colored the Asian nation's face, but he couldn't tell whether it was due to embarrassment at being called out or the fact that the thermostat could stand to be turned down just a bit.

"So Itary is not exactry the sharpest corrored pencir in the box…" Japan finally spoke after inhaling deeply and letting the air exit his ancient lungs in yet another gusty sigh. "Exprain to me how this makes it necessary for me to change my speech pattern. I have spoken this way since the beginning of my existence—trying to arter the way in which I speak wourd be rike… rike trying to tark China out of his rove of pandas or getting Berarus to stop starking Russia." The comparisons were good enough, Japan decided; China did love his pandas, and Belarus was the most accomplished elder brother-stalker in the world.

Germany closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them again, he focused his intense blue gaze directly at the Asian nation. "You'll manage," was the only thing that came out of his mouth, and the way he said the words left absolutely zero room for argument. After all, with enough practice and encouragement, Japan would get it eventually, just like if they put Belarus in solitary confinement she would stop—no, not even then.

Ignoring Japan's look of despair, Germany cleared his throat. "Alright, let's take it from the top. Repeat after me: red light, yellow light."

Japan thought of adamantly refusing to participate in this ridiculous exercise, of putting on his bold face and walking out of the room. The expression on Germany's face, however, made him think better of it, and he tried to keep his voice steady as he attempted to parrot the words back to the German man.

"Red right, yerrow right…"

The frown on Germany's face deepened ever so slightly. "Again," he demanded. "Red light, yellow light."

"Red right, yerrow right," echoed Japan imperfectly, biting his lower lip as a sort of self-punishment for his failure.

"Again."

"Red right, yerrow right."

"Again," Germany commanded, only to be startled by Japan slamming his head down onto the table.

"I cannot do this, Germany," the Japanese man warned, sounding as though he were about to take a nosedive off the cliff of irritation and into the abyss of pure insanity. "I cannot. It is impossibre."

Germany was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was the German variation of gentle: gruff with a slight hint of begrudgingly-granted sympathy.

"Alright," he started, staring rather awkwardly at the part in Japan's raven hair. This wasn't going the way he'd planned, but he wasn't giving up yet. "Let's… try something else."

He waited for Japan to lift his head from the polished tabletop. When he did, the blush of anger and perhaps of self-disappointment on his cheeks matched the red mark on his forehead.

"What erse is there to try?" the Japanese nation asked hopelessly, rubbing his reddened forehead a bit too hard in his annoyance.

"Repeat after me," Germany spoke evenly. "Sally sells seashells."

A very long silence passed, the two gazes interlocked.

"Prease terr me that you are joking."

Germany wasn't sure whether to groan aloud in frustration or snort a laugh at the appalled look on Japan's usually-passive features. He settled for giving a non-committal grunt and clearing his throat. "I'm waiting."

Japan's eyes were alight with a sort of shocked humor. "You are crazy," he informed the German, coughing a laugh. "I am simpry unabre to rearn to speak in the manner you wish me to." His gaze was almost pleading to be released—at this point, Japan wanted to leave and go into hiding for several centuries in order to forget this entire episode. "I honestry think that you would have better ruck getting Berarus to give up on her goar of marrying Russia."

Germany crossed his arms and leaned back ever so slightly in his chair. "If I could accomplish something like that and prove the impossible to be within my capabilities," he speculated, "then would you put forward equal effort and give this another shot?"

"Neither of the aforementioned ideas are accomprishable," Japan countered, rolling his eyes. "China is too infatuated with pandas, and I berieve that Berarus is equarry if not more fixated on Russia." He gazed bluntly at Germany, trying to figure out what had caused the other man to put forth such a ridiculously outrageous idea.

"But if I were to somehow get Belarus to leave Russia alone," Germany repeated, "would you give this whole thing another chance?"

Japan gave an exasperated huff. "Sure, why not?" he granted lamely. "Shourd you, by some impossibre magic perform such an absurd miracre, I wourd give your rittle speech therapy crass a second try."

At that particular second, the door swung open with such force that the knob punctured the drywall and made itself perfectly comfortable in the little crater. The frilly dress-clad figure standing in the doorway was breathing heavily, a crazed adoration in her eyes that would send any sane man on his way in seconds.

"Have you seen Big Brother?" Belarus rasped, addressing the pair while tilting her head to the side in a questioning manner, eyes blazing with demented excitement.

Japan was entirely silent, stricken with fear by the psychotic fire in the pretty girl's eyes. He glanced toward Germany, who fumbled for words before finally finding his tongue.

"H-he hasn't been by here in quite some time," he replied clumsily, feeling his skin prickle as his eyes met her piercing gaze.

The door slammed shut just as abruptly and with just as much force as it had opened, effectively breaking one of the hinges. The hole in the wall from where the doorknob had been only seconds before shed tiny bits of paint and plaster onto the carpet.

The silence that followed extended for several long moments.

"Alright," Germany said shakily, getting to his feet. "Let's pay a visit to China, shall we…?"


End file.
